Sorry
by Werewolf-at-Hogwarts
Summary: The werewolf who bit Remus Lupin reflects as he awaits his punishment by the Ministry.


Sorry

Disclaimer: This scenario is the property of J. K. Rowling. If it was mine, I'd be making billions. And I'm not. So it's not mine. See how that works?

A/N: OK, this fic isn't really about Remus; it's more about the werewolf who bit him. It's a bit weird, but that's what happens when you get an author sugar-high very late at night.

            A werewolf always remembers his victim's face.

            It is the human in the werewolf that remembers. The wolf only remembers food.

            I didn't know that before. But I know it now.

            Funny. For two years I have always tried my best to remember what I was thinking while I am a wolf, but all I ever fish up out of my brain is a few short images; strong senses like certain, familiar smells, or the loud sound of my own howling. Rather like a muggle video with most of the film cut out of it. But now, of the very night I wish to remember least, I can remember everything vividly.

            I am sorry.

            So stupid of me. I should have repaired that old wooden barn door before the Full Moon rose. I had known that the wood was starting to rot. Had I done something about it, none of this would have happened. But I didn't do anything about it. And as I wolf, I escaped my safe little barn.

            I could have wandered into any of the numerous suburbs of Aberdeen. I suppose I'll never know why I picked this one. Perhaps I would never have done what I did if I had picked another town; but that no longer matters.

            A wolf has an incredible sense of smell. Even from a half-mile off, I could scent him. The one human who dared to be out this night. The snow did nothing to slow my galloping pace through the forest: my brain was on fire, so filled with desperate lust that I now find it hard to explain. _Need.._ That was all that was racing through my head at the time. _Need._

            I can remember watching the boy through my cover of the forest, preparing to pounce. I did not see what he looked like; wolves register movement, not physical detail. All I knew was that he was moving, that he was alive, with blood running through him… Yes, when I listened closely, under the stamping of his boots as he ran through the snow, I could hear it: warm blood pulsing through his veins, rushing onward, ever onward, a perfect target for me to take!

            I am so sorry I took it.

            A werewolf always remembers his victim's face. It was the face of a boy, a very small boy -- he couldn't have been more than five or six years old. A face with pale skin framed by mousy hair, with enormous brown eyes that widened in terror when he saw me bounding towards him. A face that turned in the direction of the nearby house as he sprinted to where he knew safety lay. I do not think he knew what I am, or what it meant if he was attacked by me; he was too young to learn about such things as myself. It was only instinct that led him to run away from something so ferocious-looking.

I could feel the panic rising in him as he ran, I could sense him desperately urging himself onward, ever onward, just like the blood that rushed through his veins. He was terrified, I was thrilled -- my wolfish mind thought it was a game, the cruel chase before the feast. I outran him easily, made my move -- bit down on his shoulder. I could hear his shrieks of pain as my teeth punctured soft skin and firm bone, but I would not let up. I was a wolf.

Such a thrill as I cannot hope to describe, such _excitement_ welled up inside of me that I feel almost nauseous to remember it. I could feel the poison that causes the ailment known as Lycanthropy flow from my mouth into his body, shooting through him, making him what I am. I know how he must have felt: a needle-sharp pain, then the feeling of icy liquid pouring into him, spreading from the wound, engulfing him, smothering him in its inescapable cold.

I was elated at the sound of his pain.

His cries choked away and a gasp escaped his lips as he fell. He lay motionless, but that no longer did anything to deter my inhuman mind.

I am so sorry.

I can remember my victim's face vividly. His skin was turning translucent, his hair covered in blood, his lips darkening to a purple hue. That was the last thing I remember before the door to the house burst open and two identical, powerful stunning spells hit me in the head.

Oh Lord, I am sorry for everything.

The child had been a fool to walk outside under a Full Moon. But what is a child if not a fool? Childhood is a time to be free, to do whatever you wish. Nothing matters when you are a child; children have not yet been introduced to the horrors of reality, they are innocent.

But this child's time of careless innocence has been cut short. He has been introduced to life's horrors already. By me. I know that he will never again be a child. He will not grow up like a normal person, will not make friends, go to school, get a job, fall in love… not as things are for my -- our -- kind now. I know I have condemned him to a life of misery and disappointment. And so early in life… he has not yet even lived.

I am so sorry.

I understand that "sorry" is not enough. Nothing is enough, not after what I have done. The Ministry is trying to make me pay; they are going to punish me dearly today. But what will my pain give the boy? Satisfaction? No, he is too young to feel vengeful. Will it lessen his own pain? Of course not. What I have done to him could never be repaid, not in my punishment, not in the care he is hopefully receiving, not in anything. What I have done is unforgivable.

I know what the Ministry is about to do to me. Stupid of them, really, to think that it will in any way remedy the situation. If anything, it is a reward to me, for the terrible thing I have done: after they are finished, I will no longer have to live with the guilt. And living with such guilt would be the worst punishment I could face, not that it would change anything. I deserve so much worse; I can never repay what has been done.

I am sorry.

I now sit in a holding chamber within the Werewolf Capture Unit of the Ministry. An armed Auror stands by either door, next to the pure silver doorknobs, in case I try to get out. I would not consider doing such a thing, as I deserve anything they wish to do to me. But they cannot know that. They still think I am a bloodthirsty monster, even in human form. I'll let them go on thinking that. At the moment, it feels close enough to the truth. After what I did to that innocent boy…

I turn suddenly towards one of the Aurors. "Excuse me, Sir?" I ask, trying to keep my voice quiet and unthreatening.

He looks sternly over at me. "Yes?"

"That little boy," I start, "the one I… bit -- " The guard flinches slightly at the word and grips his wand more tightly in his hand. " -- is he going to be all right?"

"He'll live," answers the guard tersely.

"And his parents," I press. "Are his parents going to… keep him?"

"I don't know. That's their business, not mine or yours."

I sigh under my breath, frustrated. I feel that I need to know something, I need to get some kind of closure, even if I don't deserve it. What to ask?

"Er, Sir?" I try tentatively. "What is his name? The little boy's, I mean?"

The guard looks at me with suspiciously narrowed eyes. "His name is Remus Lupin. Why do you want to know?"

I sit back in the cold, hard chair, not bothering to answer. I know the guard could care less, anyway. _Remus Lupin._ So, I can finally put a name on the face. Is this the closure I wanted? My heart tells me it is. I know it's not just a face anymore; I know that I bit a real human being. I don't know how that is supposed to make me feel any better, but somehow it does. It's more than I deserve.

I am sorry, Remus Lupin. I am sorry for causing you pain, causing your parents pain, ruining your life. I am sorry.

The door suddenly opens, and the Auror standing by it steps aside to reveal a neat, stern-looking Ministry official, holding a long piece of parchment in his hand.

"Geoffrey McDonald?" he calls out into the room, not bothering to notice that I am the only person in it. "You have been accused and convicted of biting and passing the curse of Lycanthropy on to another."

"Yes," I answer, although it seems from the Aurors' glares in my direction that I was not supposed to reply.

"You will come this way to receive your punishment,"

I stand and both Aurors close in to lead me through the door. My heart speeds up with fear, but on the outside I am calm. I deserve this; I deserve worse than this.

I am sorry, Remus Lupin.

They lead me through the door that I know means my death, and it shuts with a snap behind me.

I am sorry, Remus Lupin.

Finis


End file.
